


Counting Every Second (Without You in My Arms)

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25879729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Jaskier gets hurt protective Ciri from the Nilfgaardian Army. What does he get in return?Endlessly doted on and cuddles.He can't but help to think it's worth it.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 416





	Counting Every Second (Without You in My Arms)

They’re heading to Kaer Morhen.

More specifically, they’re on the run from the Nilfgaardian Army and seeking refuge among other Witchers in the halls of Kaer Morhen. After making up ~~making out~~ with his wayward bard, as soon as he could find him after the incident on the mountain, they had pursued Geralt’s child surprise, who had been on the run ever since her parents had died and Cintra had fallen. Finding her was a rather difficult task - a child who does not want to be found, won’t be - and they stumbled upon her by chance rather than on purpose. Geralt wants to think that it was just a stroke of good luck, but he knows by now that it’s the gentle hand of Destiny guiding them together. She thinks he had run from her enough, and when he finally decides to face the situations he’s made for himself, she can’t help but to further them along. 

But Destiny is not always so kind. 

Their journey leads them to where they are now, miles away from Kaer Morhen, and surrounded by Nilfgaardians. Jaskier and Geralt keep Ciri sandwiched between them, in attempts to keep her away from any grabbing hands, weapons at the ready. Geralt has his sword and Jaskier has a small silver dagger that doesn’t look intimidating but can do some serious damage. Yennefer isn’t with them, unfortunately. While she had agreed to help Ciri deal with her magic, she was waiting for them at Kaer Morhen. One more person he cared about safe from danger, but Geralt can’t help but think that the sorceress would be helpful for this fight. 

The soldiers come in wave after wave, and one after another they get cut down. Ciri isn’t completely helpless, Geralt has begun to train her with a small blade of her own for basic self-defense as soon as they started traveling together, but the amount of soldiers is overwhelming for just the three of them to take down by themselves. It seems, at some point, as the men realize this is not going to be an easy battle, they have changed their plan from simply kidnapping Ciri, to attempting to kill her. Because, despite their overwhelming number, there are only about 50 of them total, and at this rate, they will lose. 

There’s still just over half of them left when it happens. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier notices a soldier who had broken their tiny circle of defense and was lunging toward Ciri intending to kill. Ciri, busy dispatching others, is too distracted to notice. Without a second thought, Jaskier throws himself between the princess and the soldier’s blade. It only slices across his side instead of plunging straight through him, but the force and pain of the injury knocks him to his knees. There is a noise, perhaps a grunt or a gasp of pain, his knife clattering to the ground with a dull thud, hands scrambling to put pressure on the open wound as blood gushes out, through trembling fingers, and this is what draws Ciri’s attention. 

She whirls around and, keeping her back towards Geralt so no one can hurt her while she’s distracted, catches Jaskier before he collapses completely, gently lowering him to the ground and cradling his head in her lap.

For a second, everything pauses. 

The display of emotion from the princess, the surge of victory for cutting the bard down, the pain radiating from Jaskier from where he lays, mind fuzzy, it halts the battle. 

For just a second, everything stops. 

No one moves, no sound is made other than ragged panting, a small noise that escapes Ciri’s lips as tears start to well in her eyes, and the thud of a dead Nilfgaardian’s body as it slides off Geralt’s sword onto the forest floor. 

For just a second, everything is still. 

But as quickly as it began, it ended. 

Ciri screams. 

It’s a scream full of sadness and rage and pure emotion. It wells up from deep inside her, dragging the magic from the depth of her soul alongside it and erupts into the cool nighttime air. It’s full of pain and longing and regret. And… well… It kills all the guards standing in its path, leaving only a handful behind. She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs to scream again, but the guards seem to get the point and scramble to take their leave. This is a defeat, and they’d rather leave with their lives them pointlessly throw themselves to their death. The scream gets lost in her emotions anyway, the second one never leaves her mouth, it is drowned in the tears that stream down her face.

Jaskier’s ears bleed, and his eyes are shut now, breathing shallow. 

It seems Ciri’s scream and the sudden lack of enemies has drawn Geralt out of the fight-for-your-life trance he had fallen into, and the distinct tang of Jaskier's blood in the air has him whirling around, concern etched into his features. He falls onto his knees next to Ciri and takes in his bard’s condition. Almost immediately he reaches for the xenovox in his pack, fingers clumsily grasping it in his hand. 

“Yennefer.” He says into the small device. “Yennefer, we need your help.” 

———  
The next thing Jaskier remembers is extreme pain. He tries to struggle to his feet - if they’re still in that forest, they’re prime pickings for the Nilfgaardians, and they need to get out of there - but someone is pushing him down, telling him not to move. A surge of panic rushes through him, he has to get out of here, if someone is keeping him captive, he can’t, he has to get away. He redoubles his efforts, squirms, and kicks and ignores the fact that he’s in pain because he has to get to- 

“Geralt!” He ends up calling out loud, panic seeping off him in waves. _He has to, he has to, he has to._

“Jaskier.” A gruff voice says, and Jaskier relaxes almost instantaneously. “It’s okay. You need to stay still. We’re trying to mend your wounds.”

Jaskier isn’t even listening to what his Witcher is saying, he just takes comfort in the sound of his voice and the fact that he’s here. Nothing could harm him is Geralt is here. He lets his eyes flutter shut, body untensing as it settles against the mattress underneath him. He’s so tired and in so much pain, that he doesn’t fight when sleep rises to claim him. He briefly feels a gentle kiss pressed to his forehead and fingers carding through his hair before he goes completely unconscious. 

———  
It’s the sunlight streaming in through the window that wakes him the second time.

He’s pleasantly smushed under a lot of blankets and is pleased to discover that he’s cradled against - what he can only assume is - Geralt’s chest. When he finally awakens fully and does a thorough survey of his surroundings, he finds that he is not only settled between Geralt’s legs and tucked against his chest, but he is in fact, sandwiched between his Witcher and Ciri, who has carefully taken residence in his lap. The young girl is fast asleep, but Jaskier is certain he knows what keeps her here, instead of in a comfortable bed of her own. 

Geralt must be deep in some sort of meditation, Jaskier thinks, if he hasn’t noticed the bard’s newfound consciousness, and he briefly considers falling back asleep, before ultimately deciding against it. He does, however, fit himself neatly back against his Witcher’s chest and tangle his long fingers in Ciri’s hair, humming a soft melody. He scratches gently at her scalp, running fingers through silvery locks to smooth out any knots that had found their way into her hair and wonders how long he’d been asleep for. 

He’s startled out of the soft atmosphere he'd created for them by the door creaking open on its hinges. In comes Yennefer, who stares at the scene in front of her with something akin to amused disappointment, but not surprise. 

“So much for them taking care of you, huh?” She complains, but the soft tone overrides the harsh words that she speaks. She glances down at the sleeping princess before looking back at Jaskier again. “They need the sleep.” 

“How long has it been?” Jaskier questions, though he’s suddenly afraid of the answer. 

“Just a couple of days.” Yennefer shrugs as if that wasn’t a big deal. “Enough to worry everyone though.”

Jaskier snorts softly at the teasing words. “Well, you know me. Can’t do anything by half-measures.” 

She shakes her head in agreement. “How are you feeling? Any ringing in your ears? Any pain?” 

He’s tempted to make a snide remark about her caring for once, but find it within himself to go through with it. It is obvious Yennefer cares about him, even if she can only tolerate him at times, and he knows a great bit healing magic went into his speedy recovery, let alone getting them to Kaer Morhen in the first place. So, instead, he takes a second to still himself and do a self-analysis. 

“I’m sore,” Jaskier says, and then realizes he doesn’t really know what to say that won’t make him sound stupid. “But that’s to be expected, I suppose.” He quiets once more, listening. “And my hearing is fine. 

Yennefer seems satisfied with that. “I’ll come by later with something for the pain. But you’re on bed rest for the next week or so.” She points a finger at him threateningly, “No singing and hopping around for you just yet.” 

Jaskier grins, bringing up a hand in a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fond smile on her face as she shuts the door behind her.

Arms tighten around him, and Geralt shifts underneath him, nudging his nose persistently against the back of his neck. This draws a huff of laughter from the bard, who twists what little he can to face his Witcher. He opens his mouth to let out a teasing remark but is abruptly cut off as Geralt plants his lips against his own. Jaskier can't find it in him to care. 

"Good morning to you too," Jaskier says cheekily when they pull apart, and it earns him an indulgent huff. Geralt shoves his face back into the crook of his bard's neck, before pulling away in slight distaste. 

"You still smell like blood." He points out, rather unhappily. 

"I haven't exactly had time to take a bath." Jaskier points out helpfully. "And Yennefer said I'm on bed rest for a while." 

Geralt hums. "I'm sure she'll make an expectation for you to bathe." There's a moment of silence like Geralt is playing out the conversation in his head. "I'll carry you." 

"I'm looking forward to it. But for now," He motions to where Ciri remains asleep, sprawled out on top of them. Geralt nods and settles for resting his chin on the bard's shoulder. 

"For now, we'll revel in the fact that you're an idiot."

Jaskier squeaks indignantly. "How am I an idiot? I saved Ciri's life." 

"You got yourself hurt in the process." 

"It's not like I had time to think of a safer option."

"I know." Geralt admits. "I just wish there was a way to avoid it. I felt useless." 

It's silent for a second, but Jaskier latches onto what Geralt was dancing around. "I'm sorry I worried you," Jaskier says, kissing Geralt once more. "And I'll try not to do it again."

Geralt hums happily. Jaskier yawns suddenly, and stretches, carefully in order to not irritate his wounds. Geralt loosens his grip, allowing the bard to shift his position and settle comfortably against him. "Sleep now," Geralt encourages. "Your body needs to rest. We'll get you cleaned up when you wake again." 

Jaskier gives a small nod in acknowledgment, snuggling against his Witcher, eye falling shut once more. Fingers tangle gently in his chestnut hair, returning the favor he had bestowed on Ciri earlier, coaxing him to relax. 

"Sleep well, Lark."

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've forgotten how to write fluff. 
> 
> Like, I'm writing and everything is flowing smoothly and going well and then I reach the fluffy comfort part and my brain just... stops. SMH, I swear.


End file.
